


A new family. A little broken, but still good.

by Leny



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, I literally have no idea where I'm going, I'm just trying to mingle a bit the movie verse with the game verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, other characters to be added - Freeform, series of One-shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leny/pseuds/Leny
Summary: Desmond: alive and ready to mingleClay: alive, but in the mainframe of the FarmCallum: alive, breathing and ready to be a little shitShaun: gritting his teeth in the backgroundRebecca: barely containing her laughterMoussa: watching amused from the sidelineLin: she's not playing with the kids





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is kind of my first Assassin's Creed fic, and I'm sorry if it'll suck.  
> Such introduction.

1.

 

 

   Desmond tapped his pen on the table. He was bored out of his mind, confined in the Farm. He knew no one was going to allow him to go back on the field (nor did he want to go back, even if that was selfish), but there was a certain buzzing noise under his skin, like small ants crawling on his arms, when Rebecca and Shaun were out on a mission. The skin just above his prosthetic arm itched and he scratched it without looking, glancing at the big screen of the main control room.

   It was lit up with a map of the North American continent, a red dot moving, blinking, and meaning that his friends were alive.

 

‘Are you brooding in the darkness again, Desmond?’

 

   The dark haired man snorted.

 

‘I am not brooding, Kaczmarek, and even if I was I still wouldn’t be able to beat you at it,’ Desmond grinned towards the screen, looking fondly at the silhouette of his friend, now sitting on the taskbar at the bottom, his legs disappearing in the frame of the screen.

 

‘What are you talking about, Miles? I’m never brooding! I just think extensively of possible situations and truths I have encountered,’ Clay retorted. ‘And anyway, chill, they’re fine, look, the dots still blink.’

  

    Desmond let out a shaky breath. His dot was blinking too when he was on the verge of death, in a coma. With half of his arm smoking, still burning because of the damned Apple. His dot was blinking too when he was more dead than alive, his systems working but his body not willing to move from the bed.

   If he was being honest, the worst was when he was technically awake and aware of what was happening around him, and yet he couldn’t move. The medics told him they didn’t know what happened to cause that, but Desmond knew what. It was probably Juno’s hand, and the power of the Apple.

 

‘They might blink, but Shaun promised to call when they pick up the newbies,’ Desmond told Clay, as if Clay didn’t know.

 

   Oh, Clay knew. When Rebecca managed to salvage his consciousness from a hidden place in the Animus’ mainframe, Clay started being more and more careful. He decided to stick with Desmond, allowing Rebecca to rearrange and tweak the system of the Farm, integrating Clay there as a form of independent artificial intelligence. He had his own pixelated image, he could roam around files and folders, hide amongst other software programs and access whatever he wanted.

   Clay was aware of every coming and going call, message and e-mail from the Farm’s network and he was content with that. He felt a bit like the protector of the establishment, per se, but it helped him. He wanted to be as useful as possible, no matter in what sense.

 

‘I know, Desmond,’ Clay said softly. He understood Desmond more than he cared to admit. ‘But he’ll—’ before Clay could finish his sentence, a shrill sound came from the speakers, an image of Shaun with a party hat on his head popping un on the screen.

  

   Desmond and Clay grinned, the latter snapping his fingers and answering the call.

 

‘Shaun, thank lord, I thought Desmond would go nuts waiting by the door like a kid,’ Clay whined, looking at Shaun’s face. Rebecca’s head popped up in the screen, grinning, a bit dirty, but waving her hand excitedly.

 

‘You know how the old man is,’ she said, rolling her eyes, but smiling fondly. ‘He’s missing us so much!’

 

   Shaun snorted, keeping his eyes on the road.

 

‘Hello to you too, boys, how’s the weather at home?’ Shaun asked. ‘I must say, Desmond, I will never understand why you liked New York so much, the roads here are horrible. And it snows a lot.’

 

   Desmond laughed, despite the sharp feeling in his chest, bringing a strange warmth upon hearing Shaun and Rebecca calling the Farm ‘home’.

 

‘New York’s pretty cool if you’re a bartender at one of the best bars in town, Shaun. Not that you’d be able to do it,’ he sneered without malice, ‘you’d probably throw a glass of vodka in the face of the first poor idiot who crosses your path.’

 

   Rebecca laughed, in her seat, but there were other voices, quieter, which seemed to struggle keeping it down.

 

‘So, who are the new guys?’ Clay asked, enthusiastic at the prospect of the newcomers.

 

   Clay hasn’t had that much time to meet other assassins and form connections. He just wanted to train and _to do_ something. Now he had all the time an AI had (which means a lot, mind you) and he wanted to make friends. He got to know Desmond more than he ever imagined he ever would, he could totally get along with Shaun’s caustic British humour and with Rebecca’s liveliness.

   A ginger head popped up closer to the screen, a hand waving tentatively. A pair of blue eyes flashed, and Desmond knew in an instant that look. He knew he had the same look the first time when he escaped from Abstergo together with Lucy.

   Desmond smiled, rolling his shoulders back, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. Ever since his father decided to step back and give him the leading position, he tried to give up his hoodies and to start at least wearing shirts and cardigans.

 

   He will not wear suit jackets and pullovers or vests, Shaun, thank you very much.

   Desmond hoped he looked ok and that he looked friendly, as two more heads inched in the screen.

 

‘Hello!’ Desmond smiled, ‘I’m Desmond Miles, pleased to meet you.’

 

‘Miles? I’ve heard your name before,’ a woman with Asian features narrowed her eyes.

 

‘Probably you heard about my father, William,’ Desmond said, trying not to sigh. Boy, was he tired of people thinking he was his father.

 

‘Lin, you’re going to scare the poor boy, cut him some slack, at least until we meet him,’ a black man said, turning to smile warmly at Desmond. ‘I hear you’re the big boss in North Dakota, kid. Moussa, pleased to make your acquaintance.’

 

   Desmond nodded, a bit glad for the old man introducing himself. For a second, he could’ve sworn that he saw a bit of Achilles on his face. The recognition brought with itself a pang in his chest, which he promptly ignored.

 

‘Name’s Lin,’ the woman said popped her back on the screen, nodding once.

 

‘And I’m Callum Lynch,’ the ginger said, an uneasy smile on his face. ‘Nice to meet you, Desmond.’

 

   Clay smiled and turned to wave his arms in greeting towards the newcomers. He grinned, putting his hands on his hips, introducing himself:

 

‘Hello, kids! I’m Clay, known also as Subject Sixteen. I’m the resident hacker of this facility.’

 

   The trio blinked in confusion as the Clay showed up on the screen. He didn’t look perfectly human, but neither was he a cartoon. He was something in between, like a video game character.

   The screen showed half of Shaun’s smirking face and half of Rebecca’s appalled face.

 

‘You’re not the resi—’ she started, but only to be cut off by Shaun.

 

‘I hope you’re waiting us with warm and fresh food, and a good cup of tea, Miles’

 

‘Of course, your Highness,’ Desmond snarked, rolling his eyes, propping his feet on the desk, now more than relieved that his friends were alright.

 

‘You can expect us tomorrow evening, Des, that’s what my GPS is saying,’ Rebecca said, smiling. ‘And stop worrying, you’ll get wrinkles.’

 

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Rebecca,’ Desmond laughed. ‘I’ll be seeing you in a day, guys!’

 

   Rebecca and Shaun smiled and waved him, ending the call. Desmond leaned back in his chair, his breathing deep for a few moments, until it got steady. He would never admit how scared he was, both because he did not want to return to the field, but also because every time he saw them leaving for a mission he couldn’t sleep for days, and he barely got out of the control room, where he could supervise them.

 

‘They will be fine, Desmond,’ Clay’s voice pierced through his thoughts.

 

   Desmond nodded, saying it again and again: they will be fine, _they will be fine_ , **they will be fine** , They Will Be Fine.

 


End file.
